


Disaster

by raunchyandpaunchy



Series: Sun's Dawn [7]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, One Shot, Pirates, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-07
Updated: 2019-02-07
Packaged: 2019-10-24 00:29:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17694122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: As soon as Rana's crew mutinied and threw her overboard, it was a disaster. When her and Shahvee washed ashore, it was one disaster after another.





	Disaster

**Author's Note:**

> So Rana is an OC of mine that I've had written/planned for a longfic I'm working on, which will take place/come after my current longfic, The Edged Lexicon. She's an ex-pirate captain, and as you can read, she's been through some shit. I also wanted to examine more pairings with a non-human character, and I've always adored Shahvee, and her dialogue definitely hints at a not entirely squeaky clean past, so I thought the pair might've crossed paths. Hope you enjoy!

Rana wrapped her patchwork of stolen furs around her, trudging through the thick, dense forests of Falkreath. _So cold. So many fucking pine trees. How do Nords survive in this place?_ She itched her arm, feeling the warm, welcoming embrace of her last skooma dose begin to fade away, leaving clammy, clawing irritation in its place. The Orc they’d passed on their way into the country had approached them, smiling like a hungry wolf, likely smelling the smoke and desperation rolling from the pair. He’d had what they’d wanted—needed—but as always, it came at a price, and too weak to thieve or murder the man for his supply, they’d reluctantly paid what he’d asked. The vials and crystals he’d sold them hadn’t lasted long, and now that they were gone Rana found herself trying not to claw the skin from her wrists like bark from a tree.

Shahvee walked alongside, as she had done since they washed up ashore together in Anvil months ago, after Rana was thrown overboard by her former crewmates; people she considered companions and contemporaries, people she thought respected her. Bile curled in her gut at the memory—rope tied around her wrists, Hjala snarling at her that she was going to rot at the bottom of the ocean, bodies lifting and tossing her into the ice-cold, salty chop of the Abecean Sea.

If it hadn’t been for Shahvee jumping in after her, she would’ve died. The thought had repeated itself every day since she made it onto solid ground, wrists chafed and gasping for air, fluid flooding her lungs. Shahvee had been the only crew member to not only give a shit, but risk her own life for her. To steal medicine and nurse Rana back to health after contracting the rattles at sea. To stick by her, seemingly unconditionally as they scraped their way through Cyrodiil.

Rana didn’t know how to begin repaying her, but she supposed thievery and hedonism was as good a plan as any. The pair robbed, drank, fought, smoked and screwed their way across the country. It was automatic—the closest thing to survival Rana knew. As long as she was doing something, _anything_ , thoughts of seawater suffocating her and friends with daggers in their hands and lovers sitting just a little too close and gazing just a little too adoringly couldn’t force their way in. By the time they’d reached Chorrol, Rana had cased enough places and pickpocketed enough nobles that both her and Shahvee sparkled with gaudy, opulent jewels, in stark contrast to the myriad bruises and scars that lined their faces and bodies and the bags that sagged underneath their glazed, hollow eyes. Or, in Rana’s case, eye. She’d lost her left one in a particularly vicious bar fight—it had either started after someone had insulted Shahvee or flirted with Rana, but it had ended with a Khajiit’s claw in her left eye, and her breaking a bottle over their head, and them all being thrown out of the tavern into the cold, Evening Star night.

Not as cold as it was now, mind you. Skyrim’s winds bit at Rana, vicious and bitter, as they approached snowier terrain.

“This is fucking dire,” Rana growled. “How do Nords live here?”

Shahvee sniffed by her side. “Natural tolerance. And ale.” Her voice came out in a hoarse rasp, even rougher than her usual timbre. Shahvee wrapped her furs closer around her, stepping in to share in Rana’s warmth, and Rana had to fight to stop herself from recoiling at the gesture.

“Can you give me some fucking space?” Rana snapped, immediately feeling the words sour in her mouth. Anger and hurt glimmered in Shahvee’s yellow eyes, little more than slits as she glowered.

“As you wish.”

Rana could hear the bitterness that bubbled underneath. Prickles of annoyance stabbed at her, blood rising. _I didn’t fucking ask for this. Any of this._ Fingernails dug into the flesh of her palm, leaving angry little half-moon indents.

They would keep walking until they found warmth, Rana decided. Somewhere to drink, someone to rob. Somewhere they could source skooma and blur out the edges of their recent unpleasantness. They would keep walking, as they had since they’d made it back onto land, and Rana would fight every last fucking Nord in Skyrim if she had to. If it would make things right, even, equal.

But it never would.

Shahvee never said it out loud, but they both knew. Neither wanted to acknowledge it, but the truth was there, festering underneath like an old wound. She wanted something Rana couldn’t give her, regardless of how much she robbed or fought, no matter how much they drank or smoked or imbibed. They could lie to each other in the throes of passion—that this is what they both wanted, a life of reckless larceny and uncertainty—but Rana knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. It was there every time Shahvee reached for her afterwards and Rana moved away; there every time she held her hand or kissed her cheek or simply looked at her longingly.

They arrived in Riverwood at nightfall, shaking with frost and fatigue. Brusquely, they paid for their ales and sat at a corner table, drinking in uncomfortable silence. Rana’s skin itched, burning against the heat of the tavern. Her limbs burned, too. And her chest. Her chest ached, with effort and hurt and gods knew what else. For a moment, she felt as if she was underwater again, struggling to breathe as the water pushed down against her, flooding her lungs. The room spun around her, vision tunnelling, and she gripped the arms of her seat for some semblance of anchorage. Briefly, she wondered if someone had slipped something in her drink. _Fucking Nords—_

“Breathe.” Shahvee’s voice came from the left, soothing her, grounding her. “In and out.” Scaled hands reached to touch her but to Rana’s relief, stopped before they did so.

Rana could feel her heart pounding against her tight chest. She breathed, relaxing slowly into the rhythm.

“I love you,” Rana said simply, between breaths. “But not in the way you need me to.”

Shahvee nodded sadly. “I know.” She looked down, hands clasped together. “I think I’ve always known. I hoped you’d change, that… we’d change.”

“For what it’s worth, I did too,” Rana said, feeling a lump form in her throat. “I can never repay you.”

“I don’t need you to repay me.”

Rana frowned. “Then at least let me help you.” She scratched her arm, sighing internally with relief. “I’m responsible for this mess, at least let me attempt to fix it.” The look on Shahvee’s face told Rana that she thought this was a shit idea, but she pressed on. “Whatever you want to do from here, I’ll try to help make it happen. Whatever the fuck it is. Want to go out into the wilderness and become a Priest of fuckin’ Mara? Fine by me.”

Shahvee’s snout twitched with amusement. “Somehow I don’t think an Argonian ex-pirate would make a great priest.” She scratched the scales of her neck, considering. “No. Help me get to Windhelm. Then we’re even.”


End file.
